A Crimson Conspiracy
by Juna Maleus
Summary: Redux - In 3E 430, under the watchful eyes of the Night Mother, the Dark Brotherhood moves to destroy the Morag Tong of Morrowind as the province collapses in chaos. But not is all that it seems, as the unholy divine step in...
1. Prologue

_It is sad that the only way it seems I will finish this is if I re-do the entire thing. Re-reading early chapters is just painful, and the only way to get me inspired again is to start back at the beginning. I've probably lost most of my old readers, but perhaps I will find a few new ones as well._

_A warning though…. Before I get an excessive amount of hits on certain chapters of this story, haha._

_This is not the typical Dark Brotherhood fan fiction. There is no fawning over Lucien Lachance. There is no lusting after Vicente. Yes, they are both in this story, for canon relevance. Yes, there is a hinting at a "romance" plot dealing with Lucien, but it is not happy, and is minor at best - how it should be. What is displayed is the shambles of something that would never be, a theme that I emphasize much. Remember that. Lucien remains in character to the best I can write him, for why would Lucien really bother with that thing called "romance" anyway, when love ultimately does not exist in the void. Sithis would not approve._

_This is a story about fate. This is a story about loss, and how in the end we are all pieces of a puzzle that ultimately ends in death._

_This is a story about how the Daedric Princes always win._

_Change leaves nothing the same in its wake._

_Enjoy._

_Oh, and if you have no idea who these "Morrowind" folk are, look them up for your own Elder Scrolls good. It might help you figure out the plot of the next one, for all you know. Or give you new people to fawn over and write excessive fan fiction over._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Elder Scrolls and any of its canon characters. I am not affiliated with Bethesda. I write this story for no profit. Random legalese. _

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"A Crimson Conspiracy"

_Set in 3E 430, before the murder of Uriel Septim VII, the Dark Brotherhood is as it had been before the mass chaos spurred by the traitor Mathieu Bellamont and before the destruction of the Black Hand. With the disappearance of Eno Hlaalu from the Morag Tong of Morrowind, the Black Hand has decided that the time is right for the ultimate destruction of their long-time enemies and rivals. It has been rumored that the Nerevarine of Morrowind had taken Eno's place, but the Black Hand has deemed it of no importance. With the defeat at Red Mountain and the death of Almalexia and Sotha Sil, the Nerevarine has disappeared, whisked away to the lands of Akavir. The taking of Vivec by the Daedra and the burden that has been placed upon the Morag Tong has left the country and province of Morrowind in tides of Chaos._

_And Chaos… is the Dark Brotherhood's true calling. _

_Destruction is nigh._

_And destiny awaits._


	2. A Drink in Honor of Fate

_Hopefully, if you've read the original chapters of this story, that you have noticed that I have changed the character of Julia, at least this early on in the story. The story of CC will not be the same. It will follow the same arch, but characters and minor events will all be improved, elaborated on, or changed from how they once were. For the new reader, be glad you are reading this now, rather than long ago. This is by far a better product, or at least what makes the author happy. Haters gonna hate! Writers gonna write! :D Enjoy.  
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Chapter 1: A Drink in the Honor of Fate

Who would've thought.

She hoped enough years had passed since her days of youth back in the Imperial City. Over ten years and here she was, back in her favorite tavern taking delight in her beloved Cyrodilic flavors. The taste of flin had grown on her, but the bitter taste of cromberries wore away at one's tongue to the point of vast annoyance. Placing her stein down with a succinct sound, the dull eyes of the barkeep met her cold, amber orbs. Years of experience had taught him well, as he poured another drink of the same liquor instantly and without heed. With a raised eyebrow, the barkeep placed the new stein in front of her and continued on with his business.

The Imperial wasn't surprised by his weird looks. Even under the façade of her fairly large gray cloak, her apparent small frame would baffle the most veteran of drinkers. Her brother swore they must've been descended from a Nord somewhere down the family line. The drinking of wines and liquors had become an art form to her, much like her other skills. Sadly, it seemed like the only thing she was good at lately. With a sigh, she placed her brandy down and stared into oblivion.

What was a life without purpose? One couldn't float around like this forever. The life of a mercenary just wasn't doing it for her anymore. Sure, she had seen more lands and all of their inhabitants than most folk would in their entire life times. She watched a government eras old fall and helped a land strike back against daemonic forces. There was much to be told in the story of Julia Valeius, but there wasn't much to show – besides all of the scars. Whatever loot she acquired was sold off in preparation for her trip back to the homeland and a new life. There was no need for the amulets she found and the enchanted weapons she used against the hordes of corpus.

Julia caught the barkeep looking at her again. Perhaps he was the only one to have recognized her. He never did say anything though. Wise on his part, for he had no business in her sorrows and laments. Maybe he kept her around with free drinks for insurance. Protection? Possibly. She had found herself entering a few bar-side scuffles. Maybe she was deemed the tavern's bouncer. Or maybe he had connections within the Imperial Guard. Maybe they still wanted her for some odd reason. He had to keep her there for some reason.

Another sip, and her paranoia was drowned away. It didn't matter anymore. Not at this moment. Free drinks, free food, and free board – she couldn't ask for more. One person recognized her resume of skills and that's all she needed. Renown and fame only brought her trouble. For once, it was nice to be almost utterly anonymous. She no longer had to hide her face to the crowd, though out of habit she persisted with this old ritual. There was no one after her. There was _no one _to go after.

This was the life.

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She could see it in his eyes – pupil dilated, blood shot red. With heavy breath the Dunmer examined the target in front of him with eerily wide eyes. Gripped tightly in his hands was a pathetic dagger, just sharp enough to impale. It was quite sad, the victim that lay on the ground near the feet of the skooma addict and his cronies. The barkeep kept his distance, ultimately placing the _duty _upon his _bouncer_ and his patrons to do something about this.

There was no rationalizing with these _people_. Not now, not ever – not when they were this far into the depths of skooma. While renowned for being paranoid, there would be no scaring them. They would not understand that the exact same fate that befell the victim could pierce their narcotic invincibility. Why they were here, no one knew, although Julia could make a very good guess. The economy of the Imperial City was not the boon it once was, and by the way the men and mer were dressed, they looked to be once members of the trade companies stationed along the Waterfront. One probably fell under, which was typical of these times.

She could just hear the manic scoff roll across the addict's lips as she distanced them from the crowd around her. There was never an Imperial Guard when you needed one, and always one when you didn't. No matter. She was perfectly capable of handling this situation herself, without intervention. Or was she? For a second, as she clicked out her dagger from its sheath, her mind wandered. How long ago was it really since she killed someone? What if she screwed up?

Mid-thought, the Addict lunged at her with no anticipation or stance. Rage was never a good tactic when it was so _misguided_. A quick side step, a solid kick in the back of his leg, and the addict was on the ground. His cronies would see how _real _death was tonight. Perhaps the addict could not feel the pain of her dagger as it sliced through the delicate arteries laced through his neck. Perhaps he would not even have a chance to see his blood sputter across the room. But his friends would. Grabbing a cloth napkin off the bar, she wiped her dagger clean of the sanguine ink, and swiftly placed the dagger back in its rightful home. With that, her signature signed, she looked to the addict's friends and shot them a pearly smile from under her hood.

Their jaws were agape, hands shaking, weapons barely gripped. Soon, gravity found their crude weapons as they fell to the ground, vibrating as they hit. Her hand hesitated for a moment. Those who ran from the scene would most likely return at a later moment in the time, just to repeat the same vicious process again. Skooma addicts never quit, nor did the basic criminal.

Not even she could quit her meaningless sins.

Ignoring those who watched around her, already horrified by the turn of events, Julia decided to go against her usual style of kill and conceal. Sometimes, she just got fed up by the mortals surrounding her. Sometimes, she just wanted to break away from all that she had learned and just do something purely good for once. Sheathing her dagger and pulling out her short sword, she sprinted after the rest of the addicts who were already out the door, running to who knows where.

Resolved, there was no one to stop her from having a little fun. Guards wouldn't care, where these two were heading. The more Skooma addicts dead, the better.

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Her steps made no sound as she waded down the empty streets of the Market district. Only the sound of her fluttering cloak could be heard, while distance echoes of arguments and laments ringed in the streets. Looking at her gloves as she walked towards the gates, her mind came to a realization that her feet had already long decided – it was time to leave. It was time to go somewhere else and waste life away. For someone who had done everything and gone everywhere, there wasn't much left for her in this world. A few memories lingered, written on the page of reality, but those would soon be erased, much like her mortal self. The world had been at her finger tips – life itself was at her finger tips.

To hold power over life was such an astounding thing – something that would shake most to their core. However, after the first contract was signed and the pact sealed in the blood of the chosen, it became easier after that – at least for her type. A smirk hinted at her cheek, cloaked under the shadow of her hood. When the target was even viler than themselves – that's where ease derived from. Justice through injustice, stability through assassination, or even chaos through strategic killing – whatever one desired, she once had to offer. Not anymore though. That life wore away on her. Even when it became easy, she was not one to revel in orgasmic ecstasy after a death. While those she once worked could almost be considered addicts, she was simply in it for the job itself – a pure test of her skill.

The gates opened before her, operated by a guard, eyes heavy with the lust for sleep. Although he was there to serve and protect, no one doubted the midnight traveler. Whatever business was their own, for if they were leaving the city … the more the better – at least in the eyes of the Imperial Citizen. She meant no trouble for them, but she knew perfectly well that trouble had a knack for finding her. It came with the status. While remaining hidden, one was never truly safe. She was no magician. She was no alchemist. Her name could be changed, but her looks, her aura, even her scent – none of that could change. Her skills had an inclination to attract attention as well, and there was no true escape from that.

Chaos was fun but she had had her fill. The memories of a past life danced in her head as chaos loomed, haunting the images that were pulled up from the grave. Maybe it was time to just settle down and live the rest of her life in peace, somewhere in the Empire where no one would care who she was, and there would be no need for her to wield her blade again. If there was any moment in her life to do that, it would be now, while sweet winds tickled her face and the crickets sang with the utmost confidence that stability was near. For just a moment – for just a moment she would just stop and take a breather.

Heading off the path, her gloves brushed the tall sweet grass, their milky scent filling her nostrils to the point of nausea – a pleasant one at that, however that could be. Taking off her mottled leather gloves, for once she dared to stand there and feel – feel after so many years of being numb. Secunda and Masser seemingly smiled above as she sat down, twisting a piece of broken grass between her fingers. For so long she had felt the cold silver of her blade, the texture of soft leather, and the disgusting wetness of blood. Too long had she lingered in the underworld, with all that it brought. The piece of grass felt softly to join the roots of its living comrades, who still clang to the lifeblood of Mundus.

For once, she felt at peace. That she could finally lay her head down. And so she did, without hesitation. What was she running from? Her past? Her past was long buried in the annals of foreign libraries and dusty archives. Her past was long buried with her victims. Then what was it? Did she really fear stability and peace that much? Smiling again, she shook the thought off. There was no point in fretting, not on a beautiful night like this. Her hands gripped at the thick grass around her, the impression of her body long leaving grass bent at lovely angles. Who knew darkness could be so peaceful?

Perhaps if she closed her eyes, maybe then she could imagine what _death_ was like.

And how serenity flowed through her veins!

Her eyes darted open. The crickets around her had ceased. Softly, but surely, in the grass nearby, was _someone else_. Move or not? Draw her weapon or not? Or should she just ignore whatever tread past? Yet the footsteps, though light, had a different sound that that of a deer, but more like that of a predator. Slowly inching for her short sword, she determined the course of action.

She did _nothing_.

The shadow walked up aside her. Looming. Looming like death itself.

"Are you death?" she asked silently, not a tinge of fear stained her voice, "Is this what Aetherius is like?"

The shadow stood still, only its lips moving to mouth a response, "If you would like me to arrange it, then yes Julia Valeius, I can," the shadow laughed, "I am after all a dealer in death."

Julia could only smirk in return, the feelings of earlier still tingling in her finger tips. A second later, reality quickly set in. That phrase, that gait, that voice – she knew this shadow.

This shadow wasn't mythical death, but the shadow was not here with good intentions either. His name, if known by the common people, would surely be synonymous with it. Her left hand gripped at the grass in agony, the only emotive response she would show.

Peace was a fleeting feeling – a feeling that never did exist. It was an illusion at most. Pain – now that was a feeling one could bet on. One could always know that pain would be there for them in the last moments of life.


End file.
